


Make It Better

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel Speaks Enochian, Character Analysis, Dean Winchester Angst, Depression, Enochian, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Schizophrenia, Schizophrenic Dean, Spider Webs, Spiders, dean/cas - Freeform, hey jude in the background, human castiel toward the end, slight AU in which the mark is not needed, slight destiel, slight song fic, warning, written for spn october writing challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*written for spn writing challenge- prompt: spider webs*</p><p>There are many reasons why Dean Winchester hates spider-webs.  He probably couldn’t count it all on his fingers. There was just something about those invisible suckers that sat there and just waited for something to get trapped. It made him inexplicably angry. But what was worse wasn't the physical spider webs, it was the ones in his head. Those that swung across his mind when he tried to think, or trapped him in such an elaborate scheme of lies that he no matter what he did, he could never escape.</p><p>When the walls decide to break their oath of silence and start to laugh, Dean knows he’s a goner. He can hear them, the vibrations beneath his feet, laughing and telling him truths he never wants to face. Once the walls started to speak- they never stopped. Dean has since stopped looking for silence.</p><p>The first time a spider-web nearly cost him his life was when he was twenty-six.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is written for the SPN Writing Challenge, month of October. My prompt was spider webs, and I was against yoursupernaturalsammygirl on tumblr. I'll edit this later to show who won :-)
> 
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> All Enochian was taken from this translation site (though how accurate is completely beyond me): http://www.sinleb.com/enochian/translation_index.php
> 
> Hey Jude belongs to the Beatles.

The bartender watches the man that just came in suspiciously. While being covered in dirt wasn't exactly an abnormality in an outlying country bar, the man had a wild look in his eyes, like he'd stared at the face of death and laughed. The bartender had seen many men like that come in, and they all left the same way: violently.

This man seems very calm, though. He slips into a seat and gets three shots, before proceeding to down them all in a row. The bartender watches him out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

 

Dean Winchester decides as he downs three shots, that out of all the monsters he's ever seen, he hates Arachnes the most. They're just so- messy. Arachnes leave behind dozens of spiders that are attracted to them, not to mention that they're ridiculously fast and strong. Plus, they always have sixty million feet worth of silk in the form of spider webs that hang from wherever the fuck they're holed up in.

And Dean hates spider webs. They don't do anything, they just sit there and collect dust, insects and get caught in his jacket and hair that takes forever to come out. Dean looks over at the girls in the bar for a moment before, strangely, deciding it wasn't worth his time and instead turned to go back to the motel.

He sees the bartender visibly relax and smiles.

* * *

 

There are many reasons why Dean Winchester hates spider webs.  He probably couldn’t count it all on his fingers. There was just something about those invisible suckers that sat there and just waited for something to get trapped. It made him inexplicably angry. But what was worse wasn't the physical spider webs, it was the ones in his head. Those that swung across his mind when he tried to think, or trapped him in such an elaborate scheme of lies that he no matter what he did, he could never escape.

When the walls decide to break their oath of silence and start to laugh, Dean knows he’s a goner. He can hear them, the vibrations beneath his feet, laughing and telling him truths he never wants to face. Once the walls started to speak- they never stopped. Dean has since stopped looking for silence.

The first time a spider-web nearly cost him his life was when he was twenty-six.

* * *

 

Dean Winchester would say he didn’t miss having his trusty side-kick of a brother by his side when he went hunting, but it would be a lie. Currently, his dad was doing god-knows-what in god-knows-where, and so Dean was coping the only way he knew how- by killing something and hoping his daddy never finds out.

The door creaks open as he pushes it, and he mentally hisses. He wasn’t after a vampire or a ghost, this time it was a Vetala, and Dean hated those suckers. He hated practically all the monsters he hunted. He spent his whole life hating them he didn’t know what else to feel.

The Vetala in question was a pretty young thing by the name of Thea. She’d been serving at the bar that Dean went, and he wouldn’t have known it was her if he didn’t see her take a man that night. He thanks his ability to hold his liquor.

He steps cautiously through the door, and into a room which looks like the exact picture of a war-zone. He could tell that it had once been beautiful, from the plush carpeting, throw pillows and panelled walls, but now the walls were torn, the carpeting was mysteriously stained, and the throw pillows were more fluff and bits of cloth than actual pillows. Spider webs dangle from the corners of the four-post bed, and he does not want to think about what the white sticks on the sofa were.

He ventures on, silver knife glinting by the light of his torch. He's got a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, the cold metal biting at his skin. In moments like this, where he’s so tense that everywhere aches, and he can hear the blood rushing in his veins, his brain automatically plays Hey Jude. He figures that it is a kind of a coping mechanism.

The walls laugh at him as he passes by. They scream with mirth, point fingers and cry out, "what's left of your family?" They drum their feet on the floor, and a pulse starts to beat in Dean's brain.

Dean tries to ignore them, he really does. He can feel spiders in his head, their tiny feet racing here and there and the walls laugh harder, the ground shaking beneath his feet.

Dean turns to give directions to his partner- then realises sadly he has none. His mental spider web covers his eyes. He shakes it off and takes to the stairs.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

He takes the stairs two at a time- they creak and cry out beneath his feet, but they hold. He hums softly as he pushes open another door. There is a scream, and Dean bolts for it, kicking open the door with his feet and baring his teeth.

Well, that was the expected outcome anyway.

What really happened was that Dean ran straight into a gigantic spider web he had no idea was there, and in an instant he was blinded. The web stuck to his clothes, his face, his nose. It smothered him and Dean cried out, hands scrabbling at his face.

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

Never go on hunts yourself.

That was the first rule of being a hunter. Dean had never worked well alone- his depressing thoughts tended to climb into his head when there was no noise, and everything had a clouded atmosphere to it.

_Hey Jude, don't be afraid_

_You were made to go out and get her_

It must be a Sunday, Dean thought blindly. Sundays suck. If I die because of a fucking spider web, I swear I am marching to God and demanding a refund.

He hears a voice- he recognises it as Thea’s, but then he hears another. His brain fumbles for a reason. His father had listed Vetalas as solitary hunters, but from the way these voices _laughed_ Dean came to the sudden and heart-wrenching realisation that his father had been wrong.

_The minute you let her under your skin_

_Then you begin to make it better_

Anger swelled through his veins and he ripped the web off in a swift movement, but not before the Vetalas had surrounded him with blinding grins and horrendous blue snake eyes.

Dean hated them.

He lunged for them, feinting right and catching one in the eye with his silver knife. The-one-that-isn’t-Thea screams and he moves the knife to her heart.

Stab and twist.

Thea shouts, her voice contorted with anger and bares her teeth. Dean turns to face her as the other one crumbles into dust.

From the way Thea circles him, Dean can tell that Vetelas have the same values about family as Dean does. She’s got the same look as he does when people hurt his little brother.

Dean grins at them, his eyes almost as feral and mad as hers. “Hello, Thea. Don’t you worry; there is enough of me to go around.”

Thea snorts and growls, tackling him and knocking his head back against the wall. Dean groans and flips them around, pinning her to the floor. He stops when he realises Thea is looking at him with eyes that curse him- not for her but for the other one, who is still on the floor.

There is something so exhilarating about this that Dean would’ve been petrified about what he’s turning into if he didn’t love it.

“Sorry sister,” Dean says almost hysterically. “If there’s one thing I am good at, it’s tearing families apart.”

_And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain_

_Don't carry the world upon your shoulders_

He brings the knife down.

* * *

 

Th second time he was almost defeated by a spider web was with his little brother, and if Sam didn’t get slammed against a piano and miss practically everything that happened that after, Dean wasn’t sure if he couled ever live it down.

They were after a Nathan Hughes, a dead man who fit literally all the pre-requisites for a pain in the ass vengeful spirit. Creepy, hidden Polaroid photographs of his victims when he was alive? Check. Old, abandoned home in the woods? Check. Cremated? Of fucking course.

Dean hated him.

The door doesn’t creak as he opens it and that instantly sends warning bells ringing in Dean’s head. Sam cautiously steps in, shotgun at the ready. Together, they poke around the cabin, discovering old pictures of Nathan and his wife, Lily- Nathan’s first victim. She had been appearing as a death omen to those Nathan decided to pick a fight with, and Dean felt sorry for her.

She didn’t know she was getting married to a psychopath after all.

Sam notices the hidden room first, and together they move the piano blocking the small entrance way. They squeeze in and discover an actual torture chamber, filled with guns, knives, scythes, arrows, poison- anything that could be used to inflict pain is here.

Dean looks up and has to fight back the urge to puke. Three heads stared at him, dry and leathery from age. They look at him with grisly smiles and Dean shudders. He tears his eyes away from the gruesome spectacle just as Sam holds up a bottle and gives him a grin that Dean wants to remember forever.

Sam Winchester. His brother was finally back from Stanford and on the job again. Dean tried to be happy, he really did, but all he saw was how different Sam was. Time spent being normal had changed him, and he could see Jess’ death lurking beneath his eyes. Sam was broken- from everything Dean had ever tried to protect him from. He bites back a sigh as he walks over to Sam and takes the bottle from him.

“Dried blood,” Sam says, pointing to the label. “Says it belonged to him.”

Dean claps his brother on the back and fights back the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted Sam to have a life, but he’d been too selfish to risk looking at the world alone. It was a good thing he came back for Sam, though. He would’ve gone the same way as his mother if Dean hadn’t been just about to convince him to leave. He wanted to be a better brother, a better son, but he didn’t know how.

He hears a distant, tinny cackling, like something over a long-distance call, and he knows it's the walls again. They call him names and point at Sam, and Dean doesn't need to listen to know what they're talking about.

_For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder_

He gets out the lighter and the salt just as Nathan appears behind them.

Sam flies through the hair and hits the piano, leaving Dean to yell and face the spirit alone.

He wasn’t sure what he expected. A knife? A gun? Getting tossed across the room? Whatever it was, he definitely did not expect to get smothered with a spider web that had been hanging from the rafters.

The silk sticks everywhere- he's reminded of the Vetela in that moment, and it clogs up his nose and covers his mouth. Nathan- what was left of him anyway, grins at him garishly and drags a finger down his spine as Dean struggles and chokes.

_Hey Jude, don't let me down_

_You have found her, now go and get her_

Familiar lyrics travel through his brain, calming his heart and soothing his panicked state. If Hey Jude was the last thing he heard before he died, Dean thought he would be content.

His vision starts to go black- even though death by an insanely strong spider web has to be the most stupid reason for dying ever, considering what he's going through, he's okay. He's more than okay. The music swirls and sways, rising like a crescendo- and then stops, like a recorder that's been smashed. Instead, the word that flashes around his head is SAMMY in big, red letters that scream like police sirens.

He gasps and reels, knocking into the cupboard, sending the heads crashing down on top of Nathan. They seem to affect him in some way- reminders of old murders perhaps- but the hold on the spider-web loosens and Dean tumbles loose, gasping although stale, precious air down his lungs.

The heads have now formed a sort of circle around Nathan, who is screaming like a banshee, pointing fingers at the heads and clutching his ears. Dean grabs the bottle of blood and lights it, watching with sick pleasure as Nathan burns.

* * *

 

Dean never learned from his mistakes. It seemed to be coded into his DNA. He's joined with Castiel on this hunt while Sam recovers from a particularly nasty one they took in Michigan.

The Angel sits in the car with a fascination that bordered on creepy- but at the same time was oddly endearing. Castiel sure walked that thin and fragile line.

"Remind me again why it is necessary I accompany you?" Castiel drums his fingers on the dashboard, something he picked up from Dean a long time ago.

Dean shrugs and gives him his best grin. "I don't work well on my own, and Sam needs healing. Besides,” and here he slaps Castiel's thigh. "I want to see what you can do."

The hunt in question was in Boston, where people had been killing themselves. While this wasn't wholly uncommon, Castiel agreed that sixteen suicides in three days were something to check on.

Castiel tilts his head at him and squeezes his eyes together, something Dean has realised Castiel did when he wanted came to a realisation about something or didn't understand.

"Why don't you work better alone?"

Dean's head hurt. It felt like spiders and every nasty insect had crawled inside and covered up every bit of light and hope with spider-webs and god knows what else that refused to go away. Given Dean's history with spider-webs and how they seem to have it out for him, he wasn't surprised. Having Castiel here seemed to act like a painkiller, muting the scuttling of the spiders and opening windows. The car can't mock him.

"I like having a partner to watch my back," Dean says, hiding the deeper truth as he always did. Each day he said he'd stop, and each day he did not. "It makes the job slightly easier."

Castiel nods in the way that shows he knows Dean is hiding something and turns to look out the window.

_Remember to let her into your heart_

_Then you can start to make it better_

Dean should tell him. After all, who was his guardian angel to judge him anyway? Castiel had probably known Dean since before he was born, that old man.

"If I spend too much time alone," Dean starts, and Castiel whips his head around with the undisguised delight of a toddler at Christmas. He had been waiting for this, Dean knew. It made him feel special. "I get these...thoughts. You know? And Sam keeps me straight- he's the damn moral compass of this duo, but without him I just," he pauses. "I don't know. I take more risks; I'm less about saving people and more about hunting things. I get out of control."

Castiel looks him with squinted eyes that soften with every word. He reaches out a tentative hand that he places on Dean's right shoulder. Dean looks down at this sudden gesture. "I- and again, after...after Hell- I can't be by myself, okay, I just can't."

He white knuckles the steering wheel in an attempt to stay in control. The spider web swings back over his mind and suddenly he can't think clearly anymore. Everything gets foggy, dusty, and old.

Castiel doesn't say anything; he just looks at him, blue eyes reflecting the light of the passing cars. Eventually he places a hand on the side of Dean's face, not hesitantly, but like he'd always planned on doing it someday.

" _Elasa bolape a turbs ialapereji a a madariatza. Elasa conisa ge barinu adagita hoxmarch casarma elasa al elasa bolape._ You are a beautiful star in the sky. You do not have to fear who you think you are." Castiel says, almost reverently, and in that moment Dean feels exalted, lifted up, set on a pedestal he never wants to come down from. He doesn't know what Castiel said- doesn't want to know, but he knows what he feels- and it's an inner peace he's never had before.

The spiders scuttle away, and the spider webs lift. Dean relaxes into the seat, and Castiel goes back to staring out the window like nothing ever happened.

* * *

 

This exchange becomes common, Castiel whispering Enochian words to Dean in the middle of the night, leaning over and whispering words into his ear when he's having a nightmare.

When Dean panics during a hunt because Sam's gone missing, it's Castiel who places his hands on the side of Dean's face and whispers, " _Conisa ge bolape hoxmarch, en ialapereji._ (Do not fear, my star.)"

Dean would deny any of it happening, though. It was too chick-flick, not enough macho man to admit he loved that Castiel did that for him.

He was giving up control over his extraordinarily controlled emotions to an Angel who had seen the start of the world and would probably see the end of it, whatever that may be, but he didn't mind. It was odd, and sometimes it weighed on his heart, but he didn't want Castiel to stop.

This time- he's on a hunt with Sam and his Angel, Castiel only recently having defied heaven- for him, something Dean couldn't fathom. He wasn't significant enough for that.

Castiel pushes open a window and the three of them climb ungracefully into the house. They're hunting a djinn, who until recently kept an extraordinarily low profile. Castiel was different now- much more human, much less Angel. Dean kinda liked the change, liked the joy on his face at his first sunset, the sadness in his eyes at a passing.

Said house hadn't been used in decades, and spider webs coated every available surface. Dean was slightly annoyed- he hated these suckers that clung to his shoes. He found it almost amazing how spiders could get literally anywhere. He imagined that when humanity finally got to Mars- they'd find spiders.

Dean wasn't careful enough.

He was listening to the walls and their words- he didn't, couldn't, hear the djinn coming up on him when the walls were telling him about how much Sam probably hated him.

That was his reason for failing, for getting trapped in a dream-world. He wasn't careful enough, and the walls were just too fucking loud.

_So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin_

_You're waiting for someone to perform with_

When he comes to, he's face down in a bunch of spider webs, which he finds wholly unfair- he can still see that black spider inching to his eyes. He turns around in time to see Castiel spin around, much like an Elf, trench-coat flying and blue eyes blazing, his Angel Blade glinting in the harsh blue light of the djinn.

He finds it to be the most arousing thing he's ever seen.

Later, Sam sits him down in the motel, gives him his best doe eyes, and asks, "how did you know?"

Dean looks at him. He wants to tell him that in his dream he had Castiel and Sam and everything had been the same. Sam had gone to law school yet they had still been close. His face was bright with happiness and the knowledge of a good future, and his eyes had seen the greatness in the world, not death and sorrow. And Castiel- Castiel had been human, Dean's best friend since childhood. He'd loved action movies and milkshakes and Descartes, he smiled like the stars and his eyes held the light of a dozen galaxies. Instead, he shrugs and says, "there were no spider webs."

_And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do_

_The movement you need is on your shoulder_

He leaves Sam to figure out what that meant.

* * *

 

Dean blinks open his eyes to a knock at the door, and he smiles lazily, stretching and saying, "I'm up."

In the bunker, there are no spider webs that grate on Dean's nerves. Sam's got a chore rotation going, and the bunker is as clean as the day it was made.

_Hey Jude, don't make it bad_

_Take a sad song and make it better_

_Remember to let her under your skin_

He hears Sam moving around downstairs and smells the unmistakable smell of bacon frying. The knock on the door becomes more insistent, and Dean gets up- puts on a shirt and pulls it open.

Castiel stands there, hands in the worn pockets of Dean's old sweatpants. He offers Dean a smile and gestures for him to follow him downstairs.

As he sits at the table, Sam passing him a plate of French toast and telling them all about "the craziest dream ever", it occurs to Dean that the spiders in his head had long since run away. His head feels clearer, in a way he's never felt before. He can think, for once, and can go hours before thinking something self-loathing.

Castiel's eyes blaze with amusement as Sam regales his dream where Dean had turned into a cat, and Sam's never laughed that loud in ages. It's contagious, and soon they're all doubled up laughing, French toast almost forgotten.

Sometimes, the walls here scream. They holler and stamp their feet in time to the beat of Dean's heart, and there are times when they get so loud Dean falls to his knees and shakes. But here he has got Castiel, and Sam, and they always help. Sam holds and returns to him what is real, and Castiel may be human but he certainly has not forgotten any Enochian. They help. They help a lot. 

When Castiel lost his Grace- once they'd returned all the Angels to Heaven, Castiel had refused it. He didn't want it, not anymore. Instead, he'd come to the Winchesters, his family, and three years down the road Dean was an aspiring mechanic while, at the behest of his little brother, attending lessons in advanced engineering. Sam went to a college where Castiel worked, determined to finish his education even if he was never going to use it. Castiel teaches ancient languages and history, finding it a pain in the ass to follow the textbook when it's _wrong_ , damnit. He's well-liked by his students, and the teachers find him to be companionable albeit slightly eccentric. If they hunt- they always hunt together, their unspoken rule that no one breaks.

"And then," Sam continues, by now gesticulating wildly, using pieces of French toast like a map. "We had to go to Texas to find him. Texas! How the fuck does a cat end up in Texas?"

Castiel grins and says, "In our world, making Dean a cat is possible. We can see if he does try to run to Texas."

There is a pregnant pause, in which Dean shakes his head furiously and glares at the two of them. "Don't you dare."

Sam raises an eyebrow and gives Castiel a look, who reciprocates, causing the two of them to laugh all over again.

_Then you'll begin to make it_

_Better better better better better better, oh_

Dean had lived his life in search of its hopeful undertone.

He’d finally found it.


End file.
